


enfants de la patrie

by Friendly_Gayberhood_SpiderMan (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Ghosts, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, POV Original Character, Post-Canon, it happens before the fic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Friendly_Gayberhood_SpiderMan
Summary: While lost in Paris, Fantine Pontmercy meets a specter from the past.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	enfants de la patrie

Fantine hiccups back a sob as she crouches into a corner of the alley she’s taking shelter in. The slight arch of the wall behind her does nothing to stop the rain that is currently coming down in torrents. Drops of water soak through her clothes, making her blue dress cling to her skin. She curls into herself further, stomach aching; she hasn’t eaten in what feels like hours.

A rumble of thunder echoes around Fantine, echoing off the walls of the alley. She shrieks and hides her head in her hands, wishing for her mama. They’d been out walking together--them and Jean-Georges, who had joined despite his protests that he was too old for silly things like midday walks--when Fantine had caught sight of a pretty butterfly and chased after it, curious about the mesmerizing colors on its wings. She’d quickly gotten lost in the maze like streets of the city. And then the rain had started.

Normally, Fantine isn’t afraid of storms. She and Jean-Georges like to play outside during them, in spite of their parents’ protests, splashing about in puddles and re-enacting dramatic scenes from novels and Papa’s stories. But now, with her family nowhere to be found, every dark cloud roiling overhead seems more threatening than the last.

“Now what’s a kid like you doing out in this weather?” A voice asks, coming from in front of her. Fantine slowly lifts her head, catching sight of a boy.

The boy is older than Fantine and possibly older than even Jean-Georges. His clothes are mismatched rags and his hat is way too big for him, but he doesn’t appear to be bothered by that. He has his hands on his hips, staring down at Fantine with a slightly amused expression. Despite the pouring rain, he seems to be completely dry.

Before Fantine can reply to the question, the boy continues. “Judging by your clothes, you’ve got a mama. And prob’ly a papa too. I’d wager they’re worried about you.”

The reminder makes Fantine’s heart ache. She resumes her sobbing, tears running down her face to mingle with the neverending raindrops.

The boy crouches down so that he’s on a level with Fantine, “Hey,” he says, voice softer than before, “Don’t cry, we’ll get you home before your parents even have time to notice you’re gone. What’s your name?”

Fantine wipes away her tears with one hand, trying to channel her mama, who always seems so steady and calm, even when Papa isn’t. “I’m Fantine,” she says, her voice is quiet, but it doesn’t shake. “Fantine Pontmercy.”

“Pontmercy, eh?” the boy straightens up, whistling a short tune under his breath. “I should’ve known. You’ll forgive me if I say me and Napoleon ain’t the closest of friends, won’t you?”

Fantine just looks up at him in confusion. The boy throws his head back and laughs. “Alright,” he says after a moment, “Up you get. We should get going now. Else the others will scold me. They’re no fun.”

The boy gives Fantine an expectant look. She nods and slowly drags herself to her feet, using the wall to steady herself. She shivers as the water that had been collecting in the folds off her dress slips down her skin. She takes a tentative step forward, leaving behind the meager safety of her corner. The boy smiles at her and starts walking, singing a song that Fantine can’t understand. Fantine follows after him, trying to keep up with his pace.

The boy suddenly halts as they pass a streetlamp. He turns around to face Fantine, a grave expression on his face. “Pick up that rock,” he says, pointing to a stone on the street that’s at least twice as large as Fantine’s hand. She complies, staggering a little from the weight.

“Now throw it at the lamp,” the boy says. Fantine does, barely taking the time to wonder why.

The rock misses the lamp by a wide berth, clanging noisily against a fence before falling to the ground. The boy shrugs.

“Not bad for your first time,” he says. He continues walking, starting an entirely new song.

“Why did you want me to do that?” Fantine asks, the first words she’s said to the boy after her introduction.

“Smashing lamps is a requirement of being a good revolutionary,” the boy says, “Everyone knows that.”

“Oh,” Fantine says, feeling a little foolish. Jean-Georges probably wouldn’t have needed to ask. However, as they continue to walk, she is unable to quell her curiosity. “What are the other requirements?” Her voice falters on the last word, tripping over the unfamiliar syllables.

“Well,” the boy says, hopping over a crack in the road, “You gotta know Latin. And you gotta be able to outsmart the cops. You understand?”

Fantine nods, not understanding anything at all.

The rain lightens up as they walk, turning from a downpour to a light drizzle. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, drying Fantine’s dress a little.

“Hey Pontmercy,” the boy says after a few minutes have passed. “You got any siblings?”

Fantine looks at the boy in confusion. He shrugs. “Mr. not de Courfeyrac will never stop whining if I don’t ask.” Fantine feels like she’s heard that name before, but she can’t remember where or when.

“I have an older brother,” she says, “Jean Georges. He’s eight. And Mama said I’ll have a younger sibling soon as well.”

“Tell ‘em to name that one Gavroche if it’s a boy,” the boy says, “I can spell it for you, my sister taught me how. G-A-V-R-O-C-H-E. Gavroche.” Fantine nods; that name has a strange familiarity as well.

They turn a corner and Fantine’s house comes into view. “How did you find it?” She asks as they walk closer.

“I know every part of Paris,” the boy replies, spitting on the ground. “Even bourgeois streets like this.”

“Fantine!” A voice calls out before Fantine can ask the boy another question. Fantine turns to see her mama and papa rushing towards her, Jean-Georges a few feet behind.

“Mama! Papa!” She forgets all about the boy, running towards her family.

They meet in the middle, Fantine’s parents sweeping her up into a hug which Jean-Georges joins a few seconds later.

“We were so worried,” Mama says, “We were about to go to the police station.”

“Never do that again,” Papa says, but he sounds too happy for the words to be a real scolding.

“How did you get home?” Mama asks, taking off her coat and wrapping it around Fantine’s shoulders.

“There was a boy,” Fantine cranes her neck around, looking at the spot where the boy last was. There’s no one there.

“A boy?” Papa prompts. Fantine is about to keep going, but some strange sense compels her to hold her tongue.

“Papa,” she says instead, “What’s a revolutionary?”

Papa gives her a confused look, but Fantine isn’t paying enough attention anymore to see it. She is completely focused on a spot in the far distance, where, if she strains her ears hard enough, she swears she can hear a boy singing.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @saucy-boy


End file.
